The precinct buzzed with the kind of frenetic energy that only came during a high-stakes investigation. Officers shuffled in and out, some exchanging hushed whispers, others focused intently on their tasks. Riley stood beside Luke at a table cluttered with evidence from the Warehouse Club recon operation, her heart racing with anticipation.

Luke scanned the documents and photos spread out before them. "These crates are too big just to be moving drugs. Look at the dimensions." He gestured to a diagram of the storage area. "We're talking about heavy machinery or..."

"Guns," Riley finished, her stomach dropping. "You think they're trafficking firearms too?"

"Exactly," Luke said, running a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated. "This goes deeper than we thought. If they're moving both, we need to ramp up the investigation."

"We need answers," Detective Jackson chimed in from the other side of the room. "And we need them fast. We've been sitting on this for too long. Whoever's running this, they're getting sloppy, but we won't have that advantage for much longer."

Donnelly nodded. "That's why we're going deep cover. We've got to embed someone in there who can get close to these people without drawing attention."

The room went silent for a beat. Luke, sensing where this was going, straightened up, his gaze narrowing slightly.

Donnelly turned to him. "Maddox, you're familiar with the Warehouse Club. You've got experience with this kind of op. I'm assigning you to the deep cover position."

Luke gave a curt nod, already expecting it. "Understood."

Detective Jackson frowned, though. "We know Maddox can handle it, but there's one problem—we don't have the luxury of time. We need intel fast. It could take months for him to get deep enough inside this operation to find out what's really going on."

The room fell silent again, the weight of the situation pressing down on them. They all knew the risk—if they couldn't get answers quickly, the whole operation could fall apart, and more lives would be at risk.

Riley, who had been standing near the back, listening intently, glanced up at the evidence board. Her mind raced, piecing together the puzzle. The club was busy most nights, filled with people—bartenders, bouncers, regulars. Everyone overlooked the staff. She stepped forward, the idea forming in her head.

"What if..." she started, her voice breaking through the silence. All eyes turned toward her, and she swallowed, forcing herself to keep going. "What if we had someone in the background? Not someone going in as a buyer or a client, but someone who can listen in on conversations without raising any alarms?"

Donnelly raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. "What are you getting at, Torres?"

Riley glanced at Luke, then back to Donnelly. "The club has a bar, right? People talk when they drink, they get comfortable. If someone were working there, blending in with the staff, they'd hear things. Things people wouldn't say out in the open."

Donnelly's eyes narrowed slightly, considering the idea. "You're suggesting we place someone undercover as a bartender?"

Riley nodded. "Exactly. They wouldn't suspect someone like that. People always overlook the bartenders. I could listen in on conversations, get a sense of who's running things, and report back without drawing attention. It's a position where I could move around freely, overhear things without them realizing. I could blend in. I know that world. I grew up in it."

Luke's gaze snapped to hers, his expression instantly darkening. "Absolutely not."

"Why not?" she pressed, refusing to back down. "I've been on recon shifts with you and Detective Jackson. I know the drill. I can blend in!"

The room was silent for a moment, the weight of her suggestion sinking in. It was risky, no doubt, but it could work.

Jackson scratched his chin, glancing at Donnelly. "It's not a bad idea. She could be in and out before they even realize she's there. Riley's got the guts for it. Plus, we could use her unique perspective on the street."

"Jackson, this isn't some joke," Luke said, his frustration simmering just below the surface. "You don't understand the risks involved."

"I think I do," Jackson replied, shrugging nonchalantly. "And I think Riley can handle herself. Besides, with her background, she's a perfect fit for the undercover scene."

Donnelly nodded thoughtfully, glancing between Riley and Luke. "I see both sides here. But I think we need to move quickly. If there's a chance they're trafficking guns, we can't afford to wait. This will get us answers faster than a deep-cover operation."

Riley felt a rush of hope. "Exactly, sir. If I can gather intel, we might be able to stop them before anyone gets hurt."

Luke's jaw tightened, his resolve hardening. "You're all making a mistake. This isn't about bravado; it's about safety."

"Riley knows the stakes," Donnelly said firmly. "And if she believes she can do it, then we're going with her plan."

"But—" Luke started, but Donnelly cut him off.

"No 'buts.' We need an inside perspective, and Riley's volunteered. You can guide her, but she's going in."

Luke stood there, seething with frustration. "This is reckless. I can't believe you're seriously considering this."

Jackson threw an arm around Riley's shoulders, a mischievous grin on his face. "Relax, Luke. She's in good hands. Besides, I'm sure we can make it a little fun, right Riley?"

Riley shot him a grateful smile, even as she felt a rush of anxiety. "Right. I'm ready for this."

Luke shot Riley a glare. "This is a mistake," he growled and stormed out of the room.

Sergeant Donnelly turned to her. "Just remember, if anything goes wrong, you pull out immediately."

"Deal," she said, relief washing over her. They began discussing strategies, and Riley felt a renewed sense of purpose.

As the team huddled around the evidence again, Riley exchanged ideas with Jackson, excitement coursing through her.

"Listen," Jackson said, leaning closer to Riley. "We'll work out a solid plan. You'll do great."

"Thanks, Jackson," she replied, feeling a flicker of confidence amidst the uncertainty.

But beneath that excitement, a flicker of fear lingered. This wasn't just another assignment; it was a chance to prove herself, not just to Luke but to herself. She had come so far, and she was ready to do whatever it took to stop the trafficking ring—and to show Luke that she was capable of more than he could ever imagine.

Donnelly clapped his hands, breaking the silence. "Alright, people. Let's get to work. We've got an op to plan."

______________________________________________________________

A few days later, Riley found herself in an observation room with Officer Martinez, a seasoned cop who had gone undercover in similar situations before. On the other side of the glass, Detective Jackson lounged in the chair in the interrogation room, looking like he had not a care in the world. The older woman's demeanor was calm and professional as she helped Riley prepare for what lay ahead.

"Okay, so here's the deal," Martinez said, tossing Riley a pair of heels. "You need to own it. The confidence will help you blend in." She tapped on the glass, gesturing to detective Jackson. "That guy? He wants to tell you all about his undercover drug operation. He can't wait to brag all about it." She turned to Riley. "You have to start slow. Subtle eye contact, a smile, a wink. It needs to be his idea to come to you."

Riley nodded and folded her arms.

"Then you have to make him feel big. Tell him he looks to be too important of a guy to be in here. Tell him he looks like a scotch kind of guy. Tell him he looks like he's got the weight of the world on his shoulders. Make him want to prove himself to you. Watch."

She strode from the room, and a moment later, appeared in the interrogation room with Detective Jackson. She glanced at him over her shoulder with a warm smile.

"Derek," she drawled, voice smooth as silk. Detective Jackson grinned cockily at her.

"To what do I owe the pleasure, Valerie? Using your maneater skills on me?"

Detective Martinez shook her head with a smile and sat down in front of him, slightly leaned forward.

"No maneater skills today, Derek. You'd never fall prey to them anyways." Detective Jackson shrugged, crossing his arms in front of him. "So, how is all the detective work going? I can't help but wonder what it's like. I could never convince myself to write all of those exams."

Detective Jackson chuckled. "It's good. I certainly don't miss the uniform."

Valerie raised an eyebrow. "You don't miss being on the streets? The action?"

He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. "I get my fair share of action."

She shrugged, speaking in a smooth, airy voice. "Yea sure, I mean, after the fact. But not a lot of pre-emptive action."

Derek shook his head. "We've got lots of sting operations on the books. You know that apartment over on-" He stopped himself short. "That's classified. Ahh! You almost had me, Val!"

She shook her head, laughing, before the two of them stood and left the room. She popped her head back in and smiled. "You got this." With a wink, she closed the door.

Riley sighed and leaned her head against the glass, soaking in the silence. She closed her eyes, finally allowing herself to feel the nerves that had been building in her stomach all day.

The sounds of the door opening shook her from her thoughts. Turning to look, she was surprised to see Luke slip into the room. She traced her eyes over the muscles of his back, rippling under his t-shirt as he turned to close the door behind him.

As he turned back to face her, Riley scanned his face. It was tight with concern, his lips pressed into a thin line. "Riley," he said, his low voice like gravel. "We need to talk."

She straightened in her chair, crossing her arms defensively. "I thought we were done talking about this, Luke."

"I don't think you understand how serious this is." He moved closer, his gaze intense. "Going undercover at the Warehouse Club is dangerous. You could be walking into something way over your head."

Riley steeled herself. "I could say the same for you," she said, quietly. "When do you leave?"

Luke shifted, his gaze dropping to the floor. "I should have left already. New apartment and identity are already set up."

Her heart skipped a beat. "Then why are you still here?"

He looked down at her again, conflicted. "I just... I had to try one more time. To talk you out of it. You shouldn't be doing this."

She huffed, rolling her eyes, irritated. "I'm aware of the risks. It's the same danger you'll be in."

He eyed the bag on the table which contained the far-too-skimpy outfit and the far-too-high heels that Riley was to wear to her first shift tonight.

"Riley, what the hell are you doing?" he demanded, his tone sharp. "You're going to be a stripper? You can't go through with this."

She felt her face heat up, the tension thickening in the air. "I'm doing what needs to be done. And I'm going to be a bartender. I'm not Calloway, Luke!"

"This has nothing to do with Calloway," He growled.

"I can handle myself," she shot back, frustration boiling just below the surface. "I've proven that. You saw me during the sting, and I held my own during the bear incident. I'm not some helpless rookie."

"I'm not saying you're helpless," he replied, his voice rising slightly. "But this isn't just a routine bust. These people are dangerous. What if something goes wrong? What if you get caught? I can't—" He broke off his sentence, running a hand through his hair.

She paused, caught off guard by the rawness of his admission. "This is personal for me, Luke. I'm doing this because I want to make a difference. I need to. That kid..."

Her breath caught in her throat as she realized how close he was to her. She could feel the heat radiating from him.

"Riley..." he started, his voice low, almost hesitant.

Before he could finish, she reached out, her hand brushing against his arm, sending a jolt of electricity between them. "I need you to trust me," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I need you to believe that I can handle this."

Luke's eyes flickered with a mix of concern and admiration, and in that moment, Riley felt a spark of hope. "I want to," he admitted softly, his gaze lingering on her lips.

He seemed to shake himself free of the moment. "But I can't."

She steeled herself and withdrew her hand, taking a step back. "I don't need your permission, Luke. I'm doing this with or without your support."

He clenched his jaw. "I will never support you entering a drug den as a stripper-"

"Bartender-"

"Unarmed, untrained-"

"Luke!"

He stopped and stared at her, shaking his head.

"Fine," he said through clenched teeth. "But don't expect me to just sit back and watch while you do this."

With that, he turned left.